And Still She Cries
by fadedpearl
Summary: After the war, Lucius seeks to regain his hold on Hermione.
1. Dust and Bones

"Did you forget me, my dear Miss Granger?"  
  
He threw her up against the wall, grabbing hold of her arms and forcing her face into the cold stone that muffled her cries. Her captor breathed heavily as he stared at the back of her neck, bruised from his own fingers. Without warning, he pulled her around to face him. Cold grey staring into a somehow colder set of brown eyes. She seized her first opportunity to speak, steeling her nerves, hoping to off-set her once and ever attacker.  
  
"You're being very stupid, Lucius."  
  
"Am I? Why? Because I decided to look up an old friend?"  
  
"I have nothing you want. You took it all away already. Please let me go."  
  
She spoke matter-of-factly and tried to shrug out of his tight embrace. He trapped her legs with his.  
  
"And what good would you do me if I let you go?"  
  
He spoke softly, encircling her wrists with his gloved hands.  
  
"I could keep silent about your presence here tonight, for one..."  
  
"And for another?"  
  
"As I said, I have nothing anymore, so your little visit is both futile and pointless."  
  
She met his eyes as she said that, and saw a flash of anger cross his eyes. He had been violent many times before, but had always seemed cool and collected until now. She had had enough experience to know that what he wanted was her fear, and she absolutely refused to give it to him. She wanted him to know exactly how numb he had made her. Emotions still welled up within her, but they were all noise – curving lines stretching in sinewy paths in her mind that would never connect.  
  
He tightened his grip on her wrists and pulled them above her head. In spite of her willpower, the motion brought back her well conditioned responses. As much as she told herself to forget, certain parts of Lucius' 'programming' had stuck. He smiled as she involuntarily began to struggle for the first time.  
  
"That's my girl," he mocked. "Miss me? I wanted to come earlier, but then I was too busy contending with your friends, the Weasleys. Or at least the very last of their kind." He dropped the name to try to goad her into her former anger, or at least the same tears that she had shed the first time he had taken her. It had been a long time since he had seen her cry.  
  
At his provocation, she started a little, about to resist again, but stopped once she realized that he was trying to draw her out. Instead she retorted,  
  
"You make very little sense, as ever, Lucius – why did you kill them and spare me? After all, they had other connections at the Ministry, they were purebloods. They could have been useful to you..."  
  
She broke off as he pressed her harder against the wall. "Who says I'm sparing you?" He pressed against her neck, then noticed a golden locket hidden beneath her jacket. He began to play with the necklace about her throat, when with a sudden, precise and brutal motion he tore it free. Hermione gasped.  
  
"You still work for me, Hermione, and no one else. You will do as I say."  
  
"And why exactly would I do that? I'm a woman with nothing left to lose." Hermione said, regaining her composure.  
  
"You still don't realize your situation do you? You're backed against a wall. I, on the other hand, am quite free to let you go or do as I please. As per usual." He paused to let his words sink in, tossing his wand from one hand to the other.  
  
A familiar position. Hermione let the glaze of apathy pass over her eyes. She had perfected it as a convenient way of shutting down inconvenient conversations. Lucius, on the other hand, had never seen this trick before and it greatly unnerved him.  
  
"I've let you live this long for my own amusement. I've killed everyone you most trusted. I've taken everything I could from you, not all of which was unpleasant, I assure you," he added with a sneer. "You were such a good little girl for me. I never knew quite how many hidden talents you possessed until..."  
  
He paused in his reminiscence to push her hair behind her ears. She looked up at him with piercing eyes. He smiled and continued.  
  
"Well, that was all before you began your rather pathetic exertions that you call 'research', to put me back behind Azkaban's walls. Oh yes, I know what you're really up to in that lab of yours. So, imagine the punishment in store now for my wayward little pupil."  
  
"You've said yourself that you've taken everything you could from me."  
  
She tried to keep her tone calm and level, even facing the one person who still had the ability to affect her emotions.  
  
"Well, not exactly. At the time, I never thought of all the possibilities. I only thought of physical states. Alive, alone, beaten or dead. You knew I never wanted to kill you, didn't you? You must have known. My great social experiment. I wanted to see you suffer. To make you watch others die and feel responsible. I know better now though."  
  
"What makes you think you know me? You – you're standing in the waste land and it is of your own making. Don't you know that? None of this matters anymore. What happens now is unimportant. All you have left in your wake are ruins. I too am only dust and bones. You have nothing left to destroy of me." She had finally struggled free from his grip. Instead of blocking her, he gently spread his fingers on her shoulder as she was about to brush past him  
  
"That's not entirely true, is it? You still have your memories, however painful they may be, your work, and most importantly, the freedom that I have allowed you for now. You will give me what I want as you have so many times before. I know you will not disappoint me. We stand on very much the same ground where we both once thrived."  
  
She started as if to protest, but he quickly interrupted her thoughts.  
  
"Never doubt that I still control you as much as I ever did. I take my leave of you. You shall hear from me within the week. Good day."  
  
He released her shoulder from his grip, took her hand and kissed the palm, holding it protectively. Abruptly, Lucius dropped it and strode out of the room, picking up his cane from where it had rested on her desk. 


	2. The Change of Philomel

Walking home from her office in Fleet Street, she replayed the events of the day in her mind. The new head of her division at the research company, in spite of warnings, still had the gall to ask her why she had been dismissed from the Ministry. She was certain that the eyes with the blue- hot stare were waiting for some twitch, some glint of remorse or shame. Or maybe it was the look of a cold-blooded killer he was waiting to see. She didn't care.  
  
No matter where she worked, or how much she tried to change her appearance, people found amusement in continually goading her. The relentless whispers playing like a continuous looping soundtrack around her.  
  
Traitor....cold-hearted....deceitful...what else would you expect of a mudblood?  
  
That of course, was only when she made her dreaded monthly visits to Diagon Alley for books and supplies, and naturally whenever anyone new came into the company. Anticipating testing projects with the woman that the Daily Prophet had once given the epithet, "The Girl Who Cried "Sheep!," fresh employees always condescendingly looked for errors, mistakes on her part, as well as some glint of emotion.  
  
Hermione had never given them the satisfaction. She had actually become increasingly proud of her own hidden world. She had lived through a torture few would understand, and while it made her harder, she firmly believed that it made her better. No one could lecture her on moral judgment anymore. She had lived through every possible test of loyalty, courage and morality, and whatever her decisions, they had left her alive and intact. Philosophical questions ceased to matter when faced with so much pain. In her mind she had struggled so diligently to find the connections, some kind of domino effect that had led her here. That force had no face. All she could see in her mind were the vast expanses of land and water, pulling together and apart.  
  
Together and apart. Riding home on the train, she fixed her gaze on the small, notched tracks on the board in front of her, stretching from one finite end to another in a colorful weave. As the train neared her station, she rose and pressed one palm against the board, bracing for the stop.  
  
She walked home to her small flat in West Finchley. She preferred to retreat to the quiet suburbia of Muggle London where she could be left alone in anonymity. She made sure to alienate her neighbors by refusing to discuss anything other than scientific methods that even she considered boring whenever she was forced into polite conversation.  
  
In her own way, she enjoyed her bland life. She came home to her small red door with the chipped brass knob that opened onto a colorless and barren space, decorated only by the small potted plant that sprouted on the table next to the door. She valued the smallness of things.  
  
She neatly removed and folded her clothing in slow, deliberate motions. Put everything in its place. Put everything in its place... Her hands opened in shock, as her earrings fell to the floor. She suddenly remembered Lucius. Strange, how quickly she had forgotten his visit. Repeated suppression, she supposed. She had become used to the game, blocking all memories, denying all desires. She stood, looking at her hands for a moment. Letting them finally fall, she slid into her robe, clicked on her radiator and slipped into bed, pulling the down comforter tightly around her as she curled into a fetal position. She lay there examining her fingernails, wondering if her mind had not been confusing her dreamlife with reality again. Soon, she decided, soon she would be able to control her dreams. 


End file.
